


when words aren’t enough

by crystallines



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pining, River Styx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallines/pseuds/crystallines
Summary: Ethan has always been Luke’s weak point—or strong point, depending on the perspective.





	when words aren’t enough

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this [on tumblr](http://ethanakamura.tumblr.com/post/162057770311/j-and-lukethan) for the prompt: “lukethan + J: when words aren’t enough.” i decided to post this on ao3 as well just because it's been _ages_ since i've shared anything on here due to my hiatuses and everything so!! here we go :')

Even now, standing on the black shores of the River Styx, something in Luke makes him hesitate.

He can still hear the concern in Ethan’s voice, clear as day. “It isn’t a good idea,” Ethan told him. “There are too many risks involved, too many things that could go wrong. You could—you could _die_ , and _then_ who will lead us?”

 _You will_ , Luke thought, but he didn’t say anything. He only nodded his agreement, though he sort of already knew that he would have to do it eventually. He was only stalling.

In the end, as if he sensed Luke’s train of thought, Ethan merely sighed and said, “Just make sure you come back to us, Luke.”

For almost a week, Luke endured Kronos pressuring him into going along with the plan. Kronos offered him everything he thought Luke might want—power, respect, revenge. _Glory_. As if Luke was some kind of supervillain.

He had to admit he _did_ want those things, though. More than anything. But no matter how much he yearned to see the gods yanked to their knees, he couldn’t seem to get over his own fear.

 _Fear._ The one thing that could end revolutions before they even started.

So Kronos changed tactics.

“Tell you what, Castellan.” His tone was almost pleasant. Luke could feel his palms prickle as the first beads of sweat began to gather. “I have a different offer, one that I find you’ll readily agree to. If you don’t do as I ask, I’ll kill the son of Nemesis. The one with a single eye.” As if there was any mistaking who he was referring to.

As it turned out, his fear of losing Ethan proved to be greater than his own fear of dying.

So now he’s eyeing the river with some suspicion, trying to steady his erratic heartbeat. Even the spirit of Achilles himself showed up to warn him against going through with this, but now? Luke already has his mother’s blessing. He’s chosen his point of mortality with careful precision; it’s just below his underarm, a difficult spot to reach in a fight.

And he has a purpose. He’s the one who will lead his army to victory.

The water is deepest, darkest black. It’s impossible to see just how deep it is.

 _You’re not doing this for yourself,_ he thinks.

He steps into the River Styx.

* * *

He’s pulled downwards in an instant.

Snakes coil around his torso, and they _squeeze_. They slip past his lips, crawl down into his lungs, further down into his ribcage. He can feel them writhing against his bones _._

 _This is for the army_ , he remembers. _For the war effort._

But he can’t breathe.

He is going to drown.

Pain lances through him like fire. Every muscle, every nerve is electrified, and he forgets how to move. His heart climbs into his throat. He doesn’t know if he’s sinking or drifting. He doesn’t know which way is up.

_The army—_

A jab just below his arm. A sharp throbbing, like a second pulse.

And then, a sudden flash of clarity.

A voice, brimming with so much trepidation that the speaker sounds almost angry. Almost.

_It isn’t a good idea._

He should know that voice.

_There are too many risks involved._

He struggles to place it, barely registering how the snakes seem to tighten around him. They are ropes with impossible knots. Then they’re chains, clanking with a heavy finality, dragging him down, down, down.

But it’s all in his head.

_Just make sure you come back to us, Luke._

He remembers now. That voice, calling his name at camp, so long ago. Asking him to stay. When he’d left, he was followed. He heard the same voice again, years later, in the dark corridors of the Labyrinth. Always asking him to stay. To come back.

 _I will,_ he thinks.

Luke breaks the surface with a strangled gasp.

* * *

Ethan has knocked on the door to Luke’s rooms four times in as many hours, each time with no luck. He’s afraid his anxiety is going to _eat_ him, from the inside out.

On the fifth try, he is far from optimistic. He stumbles back in surprise when the door swings open with a faint _whoosh_ , bringing him face to face with Luke.

Luke has been absent for most of the day. His hair is a mess and his clothes are rumpled, as if he’s just rolled out of bed. There are the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, which lack their usual gleam.

He looks _terrible._

Before Ethan can say anything, Luke bites out, “What do you want?”

Indignation swells inside Ethan immediately, despite his better judgment. Despite the fact that he can’t help but ache at the sight of Luke looking so... _r_ _aggedy_.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Ethan says defensively. “Clearly, you’re fine, so I guess I’m done here. Congratulations on staying alive, _sir._ ”

He’s about to turn away when Luke reaches out suddenly and takes his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says quietly. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

Ethan waits for more, but apparently that’s all he’s going to get, because Luke releases Ethan and retreats back into his study. Ethan hovers uncertainly in the doorway for a moment. But then Luke looks up and offers a barely perceptible nod, so Ethan steps in, closing the door behind him.

Dimly, Ethan remembers that Luke usually doesn’t let anyone inside his rooms.

 _He’s probably rattled from the River Styx. He needs someone, and you just happened to show up,_ Ethan tells himself. He wills himself to stop thinking of insignificant details. He knows Luke trusts him. He knows Luke loves him like a brother.

That should be enough for him.

He’s always felt sillyfor wanting more.

“So how’d it go?” he asks carefully.

“Well, it worked.” Luke picks up a sword from his desk, which Ethan recognizes as Backbiter. That’s as far as his thoughts progress before Luke uses it to slash at his own forearm.

Ethan swallows a shocked exclamation, but Luke’s skin doesn’t bleed.

He isn’t sure how to feel. Of course, Luke is _here_ , alive and well, but...Ethan knows what the next step will be, going forward. He’s not exactly a fan of that next step.

They hold each others’ gaze for what feels like hours—Ethan, uncertain, and Luke, apprehensive—before Luke lets Backbiter clatter back onto the table and whirls away abruptly.

Luke’s rooms aboard the _Princess Andromeda_ are far more luxurious than the boys’ dorms that Ethan sleeps in. Ethan follows him out of his study, past the room where Kronos’ sarcophagus rests atop a dais, past his bedroom, and into the ridiculously spacious bathroom.

He watches silently as Luke wrenches the tap on the sink and splashes his face with cold water and no soap. He places both hands on either side of the sink and leans forward, studying his reflection in the dirty mirror. He hides a grimace at the sight of himself.

At last, he turns to face Ethan. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” He rubs a hand over his face. “It’s just—” He hesitates. “Kronos threatened to kill you if I didn’t go through with this plan.”

Ethan’s blood runs cold.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Luke admits.

He realizes that Luke risked his own life to save Ethan’s, and his heart swells to twice its size and _implodes._ But the idea that Kronos is willing to kill one of his own soldiers—willing to kill _him_ —

It’s hard to speak when his mouth tastes like cotton, but he manages, “Is that what’s bothering you?”

Luke doesn’t meet Ethan’s eye. Ethan isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he sees Luke tremble, an almost imperceptible twitch of the shoulders.

“Here,” says Ethan. He takes hold of Luke and maneuvers him to the cushioned stool in front of the vanity. Ethan kneels on the cold tile in front of him and cups Luke’s face in his hands. “I’m still here. Nothing’s happened to me, okay? I’m here. Look at me, Luke.”

When he looks up, Luke’s eyes are slightly frantic, but their stare is just as piercing as Ethan remembers. Ethan’s stomach does a backflip. He thinks he might be able to stay here, just like this, and never get tired of merely _looking_.

“Deep breaths,” Ethan commands. Luke obliges. Ethan takes his shaking hands in his own until they still.

 _He needs someone,_ Ethan reminds himself again, _and you’re the one closest to him right now. There’s nothing more to it._

As sobering as the thought is, it does nothing to ease Ethan’s yearning.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

Luke shakes his head. “I don’t know. Everything’s happening so fast. I _know_ the Achilles thing worked, but I feel the way I always did. Other than the fact that I tire out a lot faster.”

“That’s reasonable. Become invincible, pay the price by tiring out.”

“Is everything about you prices and debts?” Before Ethan can say anything, Luke continues, “I’m not a hundred percent invincible.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “The whole point of going to the Styx was to become a hundred percent invincible.”

“It’s more like ninety-nine point nine.” Luke seems to debate with himself for a moment, but then he presses his thumb against a spot just under his arm. “Someone stabs me here and I’m dead. Like Achilles’ heel.”

Ethan says nothing. He is liking everything about this whole Achilles curse less and less.

“You know, after everything that happened, seeing you here is just— _surreal._ ” Luke studies Ethan strangely. Ethan tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. “You’re like...something out of a dream.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Ethan objects. 

“I’m serious. When I was at the river—were you there?”

“Of course not. I was on the ship.”

“But I heard your voice. When I was there.”

“Well, maybe the Styx gives you weird visions.”

“You really weren’t there?”

“I told you. I was _here_ , waiting for you to come back.”

“Here,” Luke repeats. His voice drops to a near whisper. “And you still are. Even after—after everything.”

Ethan swallows past the stone lodged in his throat. “I’m here,” he promises for the hundredth time.

“I was really scared, you know. I thought I was going to lose you. That’s the only reason why I did it.”

It pains Luke to admit this; Ethan can see it in the furrow between his brows, the hard set to his jaw. There’s nothing Ethan can say to this. He can’t tell Luke that everything will be fine in the end, because he doesn’t even believe it himself. He isn’t sure if he loves Luke, but there’s something close to it boiling inside him, and he doesn’t know how to give voice to it, or even if he _can_.

So he _doesn’t_ say anything. He presses his forehead to Luke’s, slumping in relief when Luke doesn’t pull away. He tries to convey everything, _everything_ through this single touch alone. He isn’t sure if it works.

 _You didn’t lose me today,_ he thinks, willing Luke to understand. _And you’re not going to any time soon._

“We’re a good team,” Ethan reminds him. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I want you to trust that I’m always going to be here for you. _With_ you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Luke exhales. “That’s a dangerous promise to make.”

“I’m making it anyway.”  

“Ethan?”

Ethan looks at him.

“Thank you.”            

There’s no point trying to conceal his smile. “Of course.”

* * *

Someone must have brought him back to his bed, because that’s where Luke finds himself waking, though he has no recollection of making his way back. Maybe it was Ethan, he thinks, but then dismisses the thought.

He isn’t sure what was a dream and what was reality. The lines dividing the two are hazy, blurred; they’re impossible to discern, so Luke doesn’t even  _try._

Fighting with the curse of Achilles is at once easier and more difficult. On one hand, he is a whirlwind, a maelstrom. It is easier than ever to predict his opponents’ next maneuvers, to see every blind spot. He walks away from every battle unscathed.

On the other hand, he now needs twelve hours of sleep every night to function properly.

He sees Ethan in the galley, during training, _everywhere._ For Ethan, at least, nothing seems amiss; he isn’t acting any differently. He is as Luke has always known him. They talk about everything _except_ the curse of Achilles that Luke now carries. Often, Luke has the urge to _say_ something, to ask whether or not it was all in his head, to ask if Ethan meant it. That is, if it _did_ turn out to be real.

_I’m always going to be here for you. I’m not going anywhere._

But Ethan looks away every time Luke catches his eye from across the room.

For a while, he tries to work out what to say to Ethan, agonizing over every possible word. Then he realizes there’s nothing he _can_ say. Millions of words in the English language, and he isn’t sure how to string them together to form a coherent sentence. He isn’t sure what he even wants to hear. He isn’t sure words will ever be enough.

He can’t afford to care for Ethan. Not like that, and not now, during a war between gods and Titans. Not while they’re all caught up in the middle of it.

And anyway, Luke thinks, maybe Ethan already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated; i'd love to hear your thoughts!! (also thank you for reading this far it's been so long since i've written anything lol)


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